Rush
by Downlikeyourinternetconnection
Summary: College!Brittana AU. Just because she recently came to terms with her irrevocable gayness doesn't mean that hordes of women in short shorts and tiny Greek printed tees is really her thing. In fact, if anything, it means that it really can't be her thing.


**Title: **Rush (1/3)

**Pairing(s)**: Santana Lopez/Brittany S. Pierce

**Rating**: M. Yes that means this is gonna get smeexyy.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own _Glee _or the characters of _Glee _or any likeness to the characters. Not making any money writing this and all that jazz, just really like the idea of Brittany and Santana having secks is all.

**Summary**: AU! Soro!College!Brittana. _Surprise_, _Surprise_, just because she recently came to terms with her irrevocable gayness doesn't mean that hordes of women in short shorts and tiny Greek printed tees is really her thing. In fact, if anything, it means that it really can't be her thing.

**Word Count: **Around 3,000 for this part. 

**A/N: **Un beta'd so all mistakes are mine. Also, chopping this into three parts 'cause I'm a horrible person. Or, you know, I just haven't decided on the ending yet. Also, ALSO, not dogging anyone's soro; like, I even pretty much make fun of my own soro in the next part (betcha can't guess which one it is lol) so like, no hate—just love! Brittana love! Onto the parte uno.

Santana's not having fun.

She's not quite sure what she was expecting.

Well, actually, that's kind of a lie. She knows she was definitely expecting some kind of difference.

She was expecting to feel freer somehow, lighter.

She doesn't.

She hasn't spot one single girl here who couldn't don a red, white and black uniform and fit right in with her nightmares. Not that she actually has nightmares about her high school cheerleading squad—she doesn't (_Ok, maybe it happened once)_—but _surprise_, _surprise_, just because she recently came to terms with her irrevocable gayness doesn't mean that hordes of women in short skirts—or in this case, short shorts and tiny Greek printed tees— is really her thing.

In fact, if anything, it means that it really can't be her thing, because only two weeks into her college career and this is Cheerios all over again; this is yet another totem pole to her success and Lambda Theta Alpha is the very first ridge in that pole.

There is no room for err here. There's no room for fanciful notions of liberation and self expression. She's not gonna pierce her nipples and join one of those "trendy" sororities where the girls scream mottos about embracing their flaws so they don't feel as bad that their daddies think their very existence is their biggest flaw. And she's definitely not gonna join one of those losers sororities who bond over having one skill in common because really, how sad is that—thinking that this one skill is what sets you apart from the rest of the world and then being trapped in a house with forty constant reminders that you just aren't that fucking special?

Seriously, being different will get her nothing but people whispering behind her back and guys seeking her out for thrills she has no intention of giving.

It's the last thing she needs right now.

She's already a shoo-in to pledge for LTA; she has been the moment she found her way under the gray outlined burgundy tent. All she had to do was mention her mother and the girls were already all smiles. Even so, she answered their questions with ease, faking a smile as she talked about cheerleading and teamwork and she even managed to sneakily insult just about every other sorority on campus while answering why she'd be a good match for LTA. There wasn't even hesitation or falter on her part when one of the girls, Jayme, a Cuban finance major with horribly bleached highlights, asked her if she had a boyfriend back home. God, Santana's been living this lie for so long that she didn't even really feel the usual hollowness; not when she smiled and answered, "no, but the guys in Cali are much hotter anyway." Not even when a group of the girls started conspiring instantly to set her up with some of the Nu Alpha Kappa boys.

Like, what was she supposed to say anyway?

_No, but I've had sex with just about half the population of boys in Lima, Ohio which is enough to know that while they can at times be cute and very easy to manipulate into doing my bidding, it's more than a little tiring to play chew toy to a sweaty, overzealous mammal who thinks that trying to impale a woman on his man bits is somehow pleasurable. So, thanks for offering to set me up with every "fine Latino boy" you've even glimpsed on this campus, but I'll pass. _

'Cause that would have gone over so fucking well!

Or fuck, she could have been even blunter and said something like: _no, I don't have a boyfriend back home because I'm a lesbian and before you go covering your tits from my sinful lesbian gaze, you should probably know that I couldn't get past your horrible dye job to look anyway, so, you know, sorry for that. _

As hilarious as that would have been, she's pretty fucking sure, Legacy or not, that would have been the quickest way to get her potential bid revoked which would suck because not pledging LTA is just not an option.

She can just imagine her mother's face if she decided to forgo Greek life, or fuck, even worse, if she decided to pledge to a different sorority. God, she'd be so damn disappointed in her. Even more disappointed than when she actually came out to her—although Santana still doesn't know what came over her then; she was just so fucking tired of the '_when are you gonna bring a nice boy home?_' talk and it kinda just slipped out of her in frustration.

Her mom wasn't even so much disappointed then as she was completely incredulous. She seriously looked at Santana like she had told her that she had decided to adopt a couple baby kittens and live in solitude for the rest of her life.

Maybe that _is_ what she told her. Maybe she meant to tell her that she's been attracted to girls for as long as she can remember and it's getting really hard to keep pretending that she's not, but her tongue panicked and what slipped out was the crazy cat lady thing instead.

It isn't exactly far from the truth; it seems like where she's heading anyway—the solitude thing, not really the cat thing because she really doesn't really even like cats. She's been noticing it more and more lately. It's like, the pretending used to hollow her out and the results of the pretending would at least partially fill her back up, but now she doesn't even feel anything and she's too far gone to even know how to stop pretending even if she wanted to.

Whatever.

It's probably for the best anyway.

She should just be happy that her introduction to the LTA girls went so well. She should just go back out there and fill herself in amongst them like the appendage they didn't even know they needed.

She should, but she doesn't.

Instead, she finds herself inside one of the nearby science buildings, _not having fun_.

It's quiet, almost eerily so, and it's empty because just about everybody has cleared out to join in with the festivities outside. She's glad that it'll at least offer a few moments of solitude, or at least she's thinks it will, which is why she nearly jumps out of her skin when the heavy swinging door creaks open.

"Sorry," A soft voice floats across the room to her.

Santana turns around and honestly, the first thing she really sees is legs—just because hordes of women in really short shorts really doesn't appeal to her, doesn't mean she can't appreciate one, okay? Especially when one kind of just strides into her view with soft muscled thighs and legs that seem to go on for days. It's kind of an enticing view, so much so that Santana has to internally fight with her psyche—or her libido or the raging gay that has decided to take up residency inside her—just to pull back and take in the whole picture, which is kind of better. Or, well, kinda _worse_, since now she's pretty sure the universe is toying with her.

Like no one, outside of annual photoshopped spreads of pop stars, should be so effortlessly stunning yet this chick waltzes right into a gritty science building, all windswept blonde hair, sparkling blue eyes and suspenders of all things, affixed to tacky red denim shorts and draped over a loose fitting tank top. It shouldn't work—it should come across as careless and trashy, Santana thinks—yet, somehow, this chick still looks like she's about to give a concert to thousands of flailing teenage girls and their token gay boys.

"Sorry," the blonde repeats gently, and as she moves closer Santana notices the tightly rolled bundle of pamphlets in her hand. It takes everything she has not to roll her eyes. It figures really; at least a third of the sororities outside would probably send one of their beloved sisters into battle if it meant the possibility of getting Ms. Perfection here into their sisterhood.

She's surprised the chick even managed to claw her way out of their grasps. She's probably seeking just as much refuge here as Santana is.

"It was nothing," Santana responds, surprisingly just as gentle.

Whatever. She supposes she feels sort of sorry for the poor girl is all. Like, she can't imagine being mobbed by half of those girls outside without going all Lima Heights Adjacent and decking at least five of them square in the face.

"So, what are you doing?" Blondie asks, moving to perch on a desk beside Santana like someone invited her or something. Santana almost tells her that this is a private pity party, but she hasn't really annoyed her yet, so she holds her tongue.

"I—" what exactly is she doing? Running from her thinly veiled problems? Prolonging destiny? Fuck, she doesn't even know, so she just shrugs. "_Nothing_,"

"Oh," The blonde's lips fall into a soft frown. Santana doesn't know what she was expecting. "I thought maybe you were lost too," she admits shyly. "I saw Rush on my schedule and I thought I was super late for class or something, so I _rushed_, but then I saw the sorority stuff outside and it's really cool I guess but every time I stopped to ask where I should be rushing to, someone gave me one of these—" she waves her bundles of promotional pamphlets, "and started talking about the history of their sorority and stuff. It was interesting but I think it made me super _super_ late,"

Santana can't help but scrunch her forehead in confusion. She can't tell if this chick is joking or… what?

"Rush _is_ the sorority thing," she emphasizes.

"Oh," the chick lights up, a smile stretching wide across her soft pink glossed lips. Santana is almost expecting for her to be like _gotcha_ but she isn't; she's just hopeful. "So I wasn't late then?"

Ok, so Santana takes back everything she said about her before because for real, what planet is this chick from?

"You weren't late," she affirms anyway, even though she's not quite sure why she's even humoring her.

"Great!" Blondie sighs, and maybe that's why Santana's humoring her, because she looks so damn relieved now, like a poorly placed weight has been lifted from her shoulders. Santana almost wishes her weights were that easily lifted. "So, is that what you're here for?" the chick asks after a moment. "The sorority thing?"

"Yep, I wanna pledge Lambda Theta Alpha," Santana admits and the blonde nods although she looks oddly unimpressed. "My mom founded the Epsilon chapter at Rutgers in like '87," she qualifies. "That's like a big deal,"

"Oh cool," at least that gets a nod and a smile. "My mom was like alpha— alpha something when she was in college,"

Santana quirks an eyebrow because seriously, how can she not know the name of the sorority her mother pledged to?

Now she's really convinced she's from another planet.

"It's like the one with the Denim blue and silvery banner?" The girl explains. Santana shrugs. "The one with the dolphin?"

"Oh. Alpha Omega Epsilon?" Okay, so maybe Santana's done her research on these things; like, intensive research.

"That's probably it," The girl nods.

"You know they have a chapter here, right?"

"Yep, I spoke to them at their booth. I don't think they like me so much though" she muses. Santana raises an eyebrows because she seriously finds that hard to believe. Blondie shrugs. "I made a joke about dolphins being gay sharks," she admits, mischievously sheepish, "and they were not…" She taps the desk behind her, lips pursed in suppressed laughter. "amused," she settles for, clapping a hand to her chest in a quick reenactment of their expressions.

Santana can't help but laugh a little because, well, she imagines that would kind of be like that her coming out at the LTA tent scenario she baked up. Like, it'd be hilarious but totally not good for winning any brownie points on the pledging factor.

The girl chuckles anyway, merely shrugging at her own misfortune.

"I'm sure they'll warm up to you once you pledge," Santana sympathizes.

The girl's eyes widen almost comically.

"Like join?" she asks.

"Yeah, _pledge_,"

"Oh, I'm not gonna join. I mean, that sorority is for like for really smart people. I'm not really smart,"

Santana purses her lips; she has no real knowledge to debate that or whatever so she doesn't try, but she's really surprised at the sudden turn to self disparaging, although she doesn't even know if it can count as self disparaging really when the chick doesn't even really seem sad, just accepting.

She shakes off the sudden coldness that brings about.

"I mean, if they know you're a legacy—like your mom's an alumnae— I'm sure they will forgo the IQ test or whatever,"

Blondie seems horrified at the mere mention of a test—it's almost funny.

She shakes her head.

"I'd don't think I'd join that one like ever. I mean, I'd rather join one where people like me for me, you know?"

"I guess," Santana shrugs. She understands the notion, she appreciates it even, but pledging has been such a big deal in her family since she was born that it's never been about a social sisterhood for her. For as long as she can remember it's been a culture thing, or a networking thing, or a legacy thing. She can't imagine her mother being anything but livid if she forwent pledging LTA for something as trivial as _people liking her for her_. She really can't even imagine in what world something like that would be ok; maybe on the planet this chick is from, she guesses. "Won't your mother be like upset though?" she asks. "If you pledge for a different soro?"

Blondie's forehead creases, her eyebrows drawing together, and her bottom lip pushing forward in a little confused pout. It's like she's never even considered the notion that her mom might be mad at something like that.

"Maybe a little, I suppose," she admits, finally. "But then I think she'd just want me to be happy,"

"Oh," Santana says, because she really doesn't even know what else to say. "So did you find another sorority?"she asks curiously, because she can't pinpoint why, but she's intrigued. "One that you think will make you happy?"

Blondie nods.

"I really liked the one with all the music notes. The one that was playing Journey?"

_Sigma Alpha Iota. _Santana had stopped by their tent really quickly earlier in the morning. She was there long enough to see the pictures of their off-campus sorority house, with the built in stage in the living room and long enough to even insult their president, a quiet Asian girl whose signature lanky Asian boyfriend was hanging off of her shoulders. It was too opportune really, because, sure she gets the supportive boyfriend role or whatever but hanging out at a sorority rush for the sake of his girlfriend? Really lame! So, she didn't even feel bad when she asked her if he was her butch lesbian girlfriend, which earned her a set of glares—or at least, she thinks they were glares; maybe their eyes are just naturally slanted that way. Whatever. She dipped the moment that loud ass midget brunette chick came around asking if she needed to audition to pledge; her voice was annoying enough, Santana definitely wasn't sticking around to hear her sing.

A loud tapping suddenly startles her for the second time today and this time she glances to the row of glass windows to find the same Asian boy from earlier grinning and gesturing wildly from behind the glass.

She looks back to the girl to find her practically beaming as well, holding up a finger to him in gesture, to let him know she'll be there soon.

"Hey, I gotta go," she murmurs to Santana, sliding easily off of the desk in a quick fluid motion. "I'm Brittany, by the way,"

Santana would usually contemplate the handshake part, but Brittany doesn't really even give her a choice; she just pulls her hand from her lap and holds it firm.

"Santana," she responds.

Brittany grins at her, all animated levels of happy, like she wasn't expecting her to give her name or something, but she's glad she did.

And then Blondie—Brittany— does the most peculiar thing Santana can honestly says has ever been done to her when she swipes her thumb across the back of Santana's hand a couple of times, like's she's tracing the vein or something.

It's only made weirder by the way she holds her gaze, blue eyes practically drilling holes into her.

"Cheer up, okay Santana?" She says with a genuine lilt of concern, before she dashes out of the room.

The "I'm not sad," Santana mutters after her doesn't even carry out with her; it just seems to float off of the walls and wrap back around Santana in a suffocating hug.

She doesn't even really feel like going back out to the LTA tent and kissing some ass after that. She's practically in already anyway, so she just pushes two desks together, stares up at the ceiling and wonders why the fuck two minutes of her life just left her feeling more full than she ever remembers feeling in her life before.

**TBC… **


End file.
